Into the Deep
by Geckogirl123
Summary: Alternative pool scene ending. John fears it's the end when Jim and Sherlock are at a stand-off. NOTE: this was written before series two but does contain Irene Adler. It is my version of Irene Adler though so it isn't the same as the one in the series.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! This is part one of how I imagined the pool scene at the end of BBC Sherlock series one too end. Hope you guys like it!_

**Into the Deep**

Time seemed to have slowed down. It was almost as if everything had been frozen. Jim stared at Sherlock, Sherlock stared at Jim and I stared at the bomb just a few metres away from me- the bomb that Sherlock was currently pointing his gun at.

Both of these men were unpredictable; one, a mass-murdering psychopath who had messed with our heads and murdered innocent people just for 'fun' and the other a high-functioning sociopath who risked his life to prove he was clever. The way I could see it...this could only end badly.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for what was sure to come. On the battlefields, I had prepared myself for death many a time and in the end it had become second nature...but somehow this was different. My life felt right. I felt whole. I didn't want to die when my life had finally just got on track. I-

Someone cleared their throat from above, interrupting my thoughts and making me jump. The three of us simultaneously looked up to see a striking young woman with long, dark red curly hair casually dangling upside-down from the roof. She winked and flashed us a wry grin.

"Hello boys." She said in an American drawl. Then, suddenly, she dropped a small metal canister to the ground. As it clattered loudly on the tiles, a thick white mist began to swirl around us; intensifying and growing until I could see nothing but a white blur.

Loud footsteps echoed around me. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" I yelled, blundering around in a state of blind panic.

"John!" I heard him reply in the same desperate tone but I couldn't tell which direction the voice was coming from. "Sherlock! Where are you-"I yelped in surprise as I felt myself falling. Cool water engulfed me as I sank deeper and deeper. Frantically, I tried to drag my body to the surface; flailing about madly and ironically reminding me of a fish out of water. Then, I felt the hard stone on the side of the pool and relief flooded through my veins. I heaved myself up out of the pool, and noticed that all the smoke had now cleared. Blinking the water away, I found myself looking up at a worried looking Sherlock and the very smug looking woman from before.

"Going for a nice little swim were we?" the woman asked, grinning from ear to ear. I scowled up at her as Sherlock placed his suit jacket around my shoulders. I was shivering violently but if it was from the shock or the cold I didn't know and at the moment I didn't really care. Although this woman may have just saved our lives, I took an immediate disliking to her.

"You!" I jabbed my finger at her accusingly. "The smoke! I..."

"Yes, you did always like to make an entrance didn't you Irene?" Sherlock sighed as he straightened up beside me.

"Sherlock, you're looking better than ever! Long time, no speak!" For the first time I took in what the woman was wearing. She was dressed in very tight black and red leathers that showed off her figure and complimented her curves. Her boots were knee height (also leather) and had a very high heel- making her just a little taller than Sherlock.

"Indeed..." Sherlock muttered as he looked her up and down, his face an unreadable mask. "John, this is Irene Adler; old friend..."

"Oh, come Sherlock we weren't just friends! Or have you forgotten all the fun we had together?" She said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively as he rolled his eyes. I made a mental note to interrogate Sherlock later. For now though, there were more urgent matters to attend too.

"Jim?" I asked Sherlock as I dragged myself up of the ground; hating the fact that down there I felt even less important.

"Will be miles away by now."

"The snipers?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but Irene beat him to it.

"I have someone dealing with them currently." She said, waving my question away as if I was an irritating fly.

As if on cue a cry came out from the balcony above and a darkly dressed man was flung across the room, falling and then landing in the pool where I had been just moments before. For a second, I sympathised with the man, before quickly realising that he had been pointing a gun at my chest just a little while ago.

A small figure leap down from above, landing in a low crouch in front of us. She flicked her hair back and casually strolled over as if nothing had happened. The girl was about 15 years old, had long wavy hair of a dark brown shade and emerald green eyes that seemed to sparkle with intelligence and fascination. She too wore a black leather jacket but had jeans and thick army boots to go with it.

"This is my assistant, Brey Malford." Irene said in a bored tone as she admired her perfectly manicured nails.

"Hi." The girl said in a smooth English accent as she smiled warmly at me and gazed up at Sherlock in awe. "I don't want to sound cliché but I really am a huge fan of your work ..."

"Please, call me Sherlock." He said, flashing her a crooked grin and shaking her hand until she was practically glowing. "I'm sure you've heard of my colleague Dr. John Watson."

The girl turned to me. "I read your blog." She said nodding enthusiastically. "I just love hearing about all the cases you two solve together, it's just amazing!"

"Thank-you." I said returning the girl's warm smile. "I'm glad _someone _appreciates my work." I pointedly glanced at Sherlock who pretended not to notice.

"Yes, yes, this is all very nice but we really should move on." Irene snapped impatiently. "Did you take care of the snipers? All of them?"

"They should all wake up in a couple of hours. Well..." Brey glanced uneasily at the man floating face-down in the pool. "Most of them anyway..."

Irene clapped her hands together. "So, I heard Jim got himself a little lapdog to drool over him! Any idea who that might be?"

I frowned at her. "How did you know that?" She smiled mysteriously at Sherlock as if it was him who had asked the question and not I. "I have friends in high places." She murmured in a husky voice. I rolled my eyes and out of the corner of my eye I saw Brey making a face that suggested similar distaste towards Irene's flirtations with Sherlock. Sherlock himself however remained completely composed.

"You must mean Molly." He told her. "She works at the morgue- we can go see her now if you like?"

Irene prowled over to him and looked deep into his eyes. "Oh, I'd like that very much." She purred into his ear, pronouncing every syllable in a deep, grumbling tone.

I cleared my throat and she span around, eyes burning with rage as she stared me down. I stared right back, enjoying the pure fury I had made jolt through her like I had jabbed her with a hot iron.

"Sherlock," I said, still not taking my eyes off hers. "It's 1 o'clock in the morning. We can't just storm in on Molly!"

Sherlock frowned. "Of course we can."

I turned away from Irene and met his gaze. "Sherlock," I said calmly as if talking to a small child.

Sherlock sighed in defeat. "Fine." He groaned. "First thing tomorrow."

"Oh, and I hear the two of you have a flat together!" Irene practically sang. "Two boys sharing a flat together, my, my, I would very much like to see that!" She winked at Sherlock. "Any chance I could take a look-see?"

"Of course." Sherlock said the exact same moment I yelled "No!" I gawped at him. Sherlock hated other people being in our flat. Heck, Sherlock just hated other people. But the flat was our place, just for us. I felt confused at why Sherlock would want to change that and dare I admit it...a little hurt. Why was he acting so differently around this woman?

"Great!" She laughed, quickly darting a smug glance in my direction, knowing that she had won. "Oh and Brey, be a dear and nip down to the store while we're gone and get me some vodka- I would get it myself but me and Sherlock have sooo much catching up to do."

Brey simply blinked at her in shock for a moment before what Irene had just said fully registered. "Vodka?" She repeated. "I'm 15 years old! How the bloody hell am I going to buy a bottle of vodka- and even if I could, where am I going to get it at 1.00 in the morning?"

Irene smiled sweetly at her. "I'm sure you'll think of something." And with that she walked out.

Sherlock and I glanced at each other for a moment, knowing what had to be done.

"I'll go." I said finally.

"Sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, you go ahead."

Sherlock smiled gratefully, nodded at the two of us and followed Irene out the door.

* * *

><p>"Is she always like that?" I asked Brey as we trudged along the street toward Tesco (the nearest shop still open at this time that sold vodka).<p>

"A total bitch you mean?" Brey grinned knowingly. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Why do you stay with her then?"

Brey sighed and looked at the floor. "My parents were killed a few years back. Murdered in our own house. I came back from martial arts class and just found them, lying in the living room...dead.

"I'm sorry." I said quietly.

Brey shrugged as though it was no big deal. "I wanted to find out who killed them. Stupidly, I tried asking the police but the idiots had found nothing and were beginning to believe it was suicide." Brey shook her head sadly. "But I knew it was murder. One day, Irene just turned up out of the blue. She said she could teach me to fight; to think for myself and to detect things that normal people couldn't. I thought it was a little strange and asked her why but she just said I had 'potential'. I've been with her for two years now. I'm learning more every day. It's good."

"But you hate her?"

"Well, I don't hate her..."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Well, yeah, ok I hate her." Brey laughed. "She's clever and all but she really is a proper cow. You're so lucky to have Sherlock! I wish I had Sherlock as a partner." Brey saw the look on my face and began to blush furiously. "Well, you know what I mean...he just seems to appreciate you so much!"

My phone bleeped from my jacket. I looked down and it read: _'While out get more milk. SH.' _

I turned to Brey and showed her the message. "Well, you know," I said sarcastically. "It's just so great to know I'm appreciated!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi all! First off, I would just like to thank my awesome beta BlueMoonOnTheRise for editing this and making it a whole lot better and easier to read. I couldn't have done it without her! ;) Right, on with the story. Here's part 2, hope you guys like it!_

As we plodded up the stairs, our arms laden with milk and vodka, I heard a high-pitched giggle coming from inside the flat. Brey and I exchanged worried glances.

"Umm," I said slowly, shifting in my position uncomfortably. "Maybe I should go first-"

"Got it." Brey said quickly; apparently keen not to have this conversation. I found myself hesitating in front of the door; my hand unwilling to reach for the brass handle. I realised how silly I was being and desperately tried to shake my fears away. This was Sherlock we were talking about! Sherlock who never gave any woman a second glance; Sherlock who's married to his work; Sherlock who thinks dating is dull and would much rather be examining rotting corpses than spending quality time with anyone living.

'_Anyone else but YOU.' _A little voice said inside my head but I quickly pushed it away. I turned the handle and slowly opened the door.

Sherlock was lounging back on the couch; reminding me (as he often did) of a cat stretching out before curling up by the fire. Next to him-_right_ next to him- was Irene, giggling loudly and twirling a strand of hair between her long, slender fingers.

"And the look on his face when you said it was the butler!" She roared, throwing her head back and letting out another explosion of raucous laughter.

Sherlock smiled beside her. "Well, of course, it was all well and good until he lost his job as head detective the very next day..." They glanced at each other momentarily before Irene began laughing (if that was possible) even louder and Sherlock himself began a low rumbling chuckle.

I gawped at them. Sherlock was...laughing_._ Actually _laughing_- and not with me. In all the time I had known him I had never seen him laugh with someone else. Not once. Who the bloody hell was this woman?

Finally, once Irene had wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, she and Sherlock acknowledged me.

"Oh. Hello Johnny!" Irene said sweetly, as I tried to ignore the fact that my jaw was so tense it felt like it was going to snap.

"It's John." I growled through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to punch her head in.

"Whatever. Did you get the vodka Brey?" She pouted when no answer came, and called again. "Are you there? Did you get the vodka?"

Brey walked in and for a moment seemed just as taken aback as I was at how closely Sherlock and Irene were sitting together. Then, just as quickly as the shock had registered on her face, it was gone; replaced by a blackened scowl.

"Yes, I did- but bear in mind that next time you can get it yourself. John was the one who had to get it since; in case you hadn't noticed I'm only 15 years old and wouldn't be able to buy alcohol if I tried!"

"Oh," Irene waved her away with her hand; much in the same dismissive manner as she had done to me earlier. "Don't be such a drama queen! A little make-up and you would pass for 18 easy! You should really consider it anyway; it would make a big improvement and might just make a few boys' heads turn!"

Brey said nothing but her scowl deepened even further.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to where ever you're staying?" I asked in the same sickly sweet tone Irene had used with me earlier.

Irene stared me down for a moment; the stony gaze in her eyes telling me everything she thought about me while her face remained a perfectly calm mask of tranquillity.

"Yes, I suppose we should." She learned in towards Sherlock and pecked him lightly on the cheek. "Meet you at the morgue tomorrow, 9 am sharp."

Sherlock smiled slowly at her. "Can't wait," he said quietly as she pulled back, sauntered out of the room and, without even waiting for Brey, made her way down the stairs. The high heels on her boots clacked loudly as she went. Brey nodded in good-bye to each of us and hurried down the stairs after her.

I waited until I heard the satisfying click of the front door closing before throwing down my shopping bag and unleashing my fury.

"Who the hell is that woman?" I thundered.

Sherlock sat up and frowned in apparent puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"Who the hell was..._that_!" I persisted, pointing stiffly at the door behind me for added effect.

"Irene Adler." He said, his voice bored. "Honestly John, keep up! I expected more from you."

I ground my teeth together and clenched my fists so hard I thought my knuckles would pop out. "I mean..." I said, my voice going dangerously quiet. "Who is she _to you_?"

Sherlock's frown deepened. "She's just an old friend-"

"Old friend?" I laughed harshly. "She was all over you!"

"...Was she?"

"Yes!"

Sherlock paused for a moment and stared intently into my eyes, as if searching for something within them. "Why are you so angry?" he muttered quietly. "Why are you-" He sat back and a small smile began to play at his lips; just as it always did when he had worked something out. "John, are you...jealous?"

I blinked at him in shock for a moment. "Excuse me?" I asked, my voice raising just a little. I stopped as I reached for the doorframe, shaking my head in disbelief as I turned back to look at him. Right now I couldn't even stand the thought of being in the same room as him. "I knew your ego was big Sherlock, but I didn't expect that...not even from you." Leaving him with his brow creased in confusion, I stormed up the stairs to my room.

* * *

><p>The next morning we drove to the morgue in silence; the only sound being made was the light-hearted hum of the cabbie as he cheerily wove his way through the London morning traffic.<p>

After what seemed like hours but was in fact only a few minutes, we arrived. As we got out of the cab, a horribly familiar figure spotted us and waved us over.

"Hello there," Irene purred seductively at Sherlock as we strode over. Brey- who had been staring at the morgue looking deep in thought- turned around; her face instantly lighting up when she saw Sherlock and I. As we reached them, Irene kissed Sherlock on both cheeks making him grin in a way I'd never seen him do before. If it was possible, it seemed she was wearing even higher heels and tighter leathers; the clothes clinging tightly to her body and exaggerating her every curve. I hated her, but even I couldn't deny that she looked stunning.

"Shall we?" Irene suggested, strutting towards the door, causing Sherlock to quickly follow, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her elegant form.

After a moment Brey cleared her throat and I turned in her direction.

"He's not the only one." She said with one eyebrow raised as I looked blankly at her. "You were staring." She explained.

"Was I?" I mumbled in a slight daze, making Brey sigh and follow them inside while I tried to come back down to Earth.

Several minutes later, I walked into the lab to find Molly sitting in a chair, tears silently rolling down her anguished face. It was horrible; like someone had pressed the mute button on the TV. Molly didn't need to speak though; her eyes summed it all up into one word. Broken.

I felt a sudden urge to comfort her, but just as I was about to make my way across the room-

"Jesus Molly!" Irene moaned, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. "You must remember something! Anything? Anything he said?"

I starred at Irene in horror. I didn't think it was possible for someone to be so heart-less; even Sherlock looked a little taken back.

"I...I don't know." Molly stammered. "I can't really re-remember."

"Try to Molly." Sherlock urged; at least he making an effort to be civil.

"I...I can't."

"Well try harder." Irene snapped impatiently.

"Hey!" I piped up, unable to stand anymore of this. "She's been through a lot! Lay off her will you?"

"John," Sherlock began. "This is the only way we can get the necessary information-"

"Yes, but you don't have to treat her like she's a murder suspect do you?" I shouted back at him, making Molly flinch at the sudden loud noise. "How can you be defending _her_?" I pointed angrily at Irene.

Perhaps Sherlock was about to say something back but Irene placed a finger on his lips, making him freeze instantly.

"No, John's right." She told him calmly. "I was being too harsh, I'm sorry Molly," She turned to look at Molly's shocked face for a fraction of a second before twisting around again to look deep into Sherlock's eyes.

"I think that perhaps, I should have been a little more...gentle." She whispered in his ear as she leaned closer.

I couldn't believe this. Molly looked just as appalled as I felt as she watched this...this _woman _seduce the man she clearly adored right in front of her.

Brey's face however, was a look of pure disgust and anger as she looked from Molly to Sherlock and Irene. She could see it too. Her knuckles had gone so white it was un-natural. Suddenly, she stood up. "Come on Molly," She said gently, taking her hand and smiling warmly. "Let's go and make some tea." With one last angry glare at a satisfied looking Irene and a disappointed glance at Sherlock, she practically dragged a poor, limp Molly from the room; leaving me to stare in disbelief at Sherlock as he looked deep into Irene's eyes.

I was on the point of following Brey and Molly; simply to spare my eyes, when all of a sudden, Irene pulled back and looked at her watch.

"Would you just look at the time?" She sighed as Sherlock continued to stare into the space she had just been in. "Got to dash, business to attend to involving a previous case in Berlin- I'll text you!" And with that she was gone; leaving Sherlock looking all puppy-eyed and deliriously happy.

"What has gotten into you?" I breathed, just loud enough for him to turn his head in my direction.

"Hmm?" He mumbled, but before I could say anymore on the matter his phone bleeped. He looked down at it and sighed. "Lestrade." He groaned. "We're wanted at the station. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi guys! Here's part three and thanks again to my beta BlueMoonOnTheRise for all of her hard work! I couldn't have done it without her! Seriously, her writing, grammar and punctuation tips are helping me a hell of a lot! I'll also try to fix my internet problem and stop bombarding her with the same messages over and over. Lol, sorry about that BMOTR ;)_

Into the Deep Part 3

"We've got two dead bodies, a thankfully _now_ disarmed bomb, a ruined memory stick containing _top secret_ missile plans and your fingerprints are all over the place!" Lestrade remonstrated for at least the third time this morning; repeating himself yet again just in case we hadn't heard him the last time. "What the bloody hell happened last night?"

I sighed and rubbed my throbbing temples. I had barely had four hours sleep last night, my muscles still ached horribly from yesterday's episode at the pool and - to make matters worse - I was beginning to get a banging headache. Still, at least I didn't need to worry about Molly anymore: since Irene took off without mentioning where she was going, Brey had offered to stay with her for a few hours.

"I'm used to it." she had said with a shrug when I'd told her about Irene's unexpected departure. "And anyway, Molly's much better company than her...even if she is in the middle of a mental breakdown."

I shook my head and tried to refocus on the present; it probably wasn't a good idea to let my mind wander in the middle of a police investigation.

"It was Moriarty." Sherlock explained, once Lestrade had finally paused to catch his breath. "He was our so called 'friendly bomber'. Then he held John hostage to get to me and then his snipers had us at gunpoint."

"How did you escape?"

"One of the snipers must have had a faulty smoke bomb." Sherlock shrugged, answering without the slightest hesitation. Lying came as easily to him as breathing. But why was Sherlock trying to hide Irene from Lestrade? Why would he - ?

"And it was Moriarty who killed the snipers?" Lestrade asked interrupting my thoughts. My questions would have to wait for another time.

"Well, one of them - the other one threw himself from the balcony during all the commotion and drowned in the swimming pool."

"So you knew that Moriarty was the bomber?"

"Yes."

"And you _still_ decided to go alone without telling any of us?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how stupid that was?"

"Inspector, do you have any important questions to ask...or are we free to go?"

Lestrade stared at Sherlock with the usual tired resignation. I noticed the huge, black circles under his bloodshot eyes and could tell that he'd at the very least lost some sleep over this. I suddenly began to feel sorry for Lestrade. He did genuinely try to help and was actually concerned about the people involved in each case; which was a hell of a lot better than most other police officers I had met. He spent hours on every case, doing everything in his power to solve it...even if that meant stepping back and letting Sherlock swan in to save the day. It seemed to me that Lestrade had always accepted that Sherlock was superior, and that it was just his job to stop Sherlock getting himself killed. I could see right now how much it pained him that he could hardly even do that.

Lestrade sighed wearily and sat back.

"Yes, Sherlock, you can go- just...just try to be a little more careful next time."

"You sound like Mycroft," Sherlock sneered, as he strode out. I turned and smiled sympathetically at Lestrade, and made to follow the detective from the room.

"Sometimes I don't even know why I bother," Lestrade muttered quietly to himself, before looking up at me seriously. "Keep him out of trouble won't you John?"

"I'll try." I told him, but inside I knew that it was easier said than done. Trouble always seemed to be following Sherlock and me, and if it wasn't, we were sure to go out and find it ourselves.

* * *

><p>The flat door creaked open and I looked up from my newspaper to find Mrs Hudson and a rather pleased looking Brey hovering in the hallway.<p>

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson called, as he turned away from the laptop screen. "A nice young girl is here to see you! If you need anything I'll just be downstairs. Go ahead love." She smiled encouragingly at Brey who came into the room grinning from ear to ear, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"I think I might have something!" she told us. "A lead on Jim."

"How?" I asked, as Sherlock jerked upright, his full attention turned to Brey.

"Well, once I'd calmed down Molly and we'd discussed..." she darted a quick glance at Sherlock, "umm...some things, I decided to ask her a bit more about Jim. She mentioned that one night last week she heard him talking in hushed tones on his mobile outside her room. He was speaking in Spanish but she managed to catch the name 'Theo' and something about racehorses. At the time she thought it a little strange but didn't want to ask Jim about it in case he got upset." Brey stopped her enthusiastic babbling for a moment to open a small canvas bag she had slung across her shoulder. "So I did some digging and apparently a racehorse owner called Theo Malithque had a business partner - Dennis Filch." She handed Sherlock a newspaper article. "Turns out Dennis 'killed himself' last week and Theo is now the single owner of everything - the horses, the money - everything."

"And you don't think Filch killed himself?" Sherlock said, a small smile beginning to form as he scanned through the article. "You think it was-"

"Jim, yes - or at least some of his henchmen. It was rumoured anyway that the two had been squabbling about the business for quite some time; something must have just made Theo snap- and isn't it strangely convenient that Theo is at this very moment on a business trip to London?"

"You got the address?" I asked.

"Burkland Hotel, room 73, first floor," Brey announced smugly. "I'm good with computers," she explained, before I could ask.

"Not bad." Sherlock said nodding at her approvingly. "Not bad at all; well, for an average human being anyway."

"That's about the best reaction you'll get with him," I informed her as she blushed with pride.

"Well, there's no time to waste then," Sherlock said with a flourish; leaping up from the sofa and shrugging on his coat. I smiled as he twirled around frantically; Sherlock always did this when he was excited - rushing around like a giddy schoolboy.

"Come on John," he urged, throwing me my jacket which I caught just before it hit the ground.

"I take it that the Game is on?" I asked as I put my arm into its sleeve.

"Indeed it is John," he agreed. "Indeed it is!"


	4. Chapter 4

Into the Deep part 4 (Draft 1)

"OK, ok; how about…them! That couple in the top left corner."

Sherlock looked the couple up and down for a short moment, before starting to throw deductions out left right and centre:

"Simple, he feels insecure about their relationship – he's eating a very small salad for someone his size – possibly because he's trying to lose some weight… and do you see the way he keeps twisting his wedding ring on the left hand? Obvious sign of anxiousness; add that to the fact he keeps trying to gain her attention - it's quite sad really, almost like he craves it. As I was saying, insecure – and rightly so; look at the way she's eyeing up the man on the table to her right." Sherlock made a sound of disapproval. "If she bats her eyelashes at him anymore they'll fall off! She'll almost certainly leave him in the next month."

"That's amazing!" Brey exclaimed for at least the third time that day. "Absolutely extraordinary!"

We'd been sitting in the café opposite the Burkland hotel for about two hours now. Within the first ten minutes of staring intensely out the window, waiting for Malithque to return, Sherlock had begun drumming his fingers loudly on the table, and sighing frequently. Patience had never been one of Sherlock's _finer _qualities, and boredom had quickly started to gnaw away at him.

Fortunately, Brey's curiosity soon got the better of her, and she began asking Sherlock and me questions about our work. Myself excluded, it was a rare thing to find someone interested in Sherlock's deduction skills; especially someone as fascinated as Brey. If I'm honest, I think Sherlock was rather enjoying all of the attention.

"Can I have a go?" Brey asked. "I'll probably be rubbish, but I'd like to try; oh and you could help me too John, well if you want to? With your help I might stand a chance of making some passable deductions."

"Sure," I replied. "I didn't do too badly the last time I tried, so I'll give it another shot."

"Ok - the waitress approaching us now;" Sherlock suggested, smiling at us in amusement.

The waitress he'd specified set down two cups of tea, a plate of toast and a small pot of jam onto our table. She smiled kindly at us, but I think Brey and I may have scared her a little – we were concentrating so hard our faces were screwed up and we probably seemed to be glaring at her. She made her way hastily to another table, looking back at us in confusion.

"Her watch-" Brey began. "Looked expensive, did you recognise the brand?" she turned, eyes questioning, to me.

"It was a Cartier. They usually cost around…£4500."

Brey let out a low whistle.

"Whoa; I bet she doesn't get enough for _that _with a waitressing salary. A gift, then…"

"The value of that watch says it was from someone close," I added, seeing Sherlock nod approvingly out of the corner of my eye. "Husband?"

Brey tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Hmm, didn't see a ring…or a line, if she'd taken it off for work…"

"Parents?"

"Rich parents? She looks too old for this to be a student job… would she end up as a waitress if her rich parents gave her the best education money could buy?"

"She could _really _like waitressing…"

Brey raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, not very likely," I admitted. "We'll go for long-term boyfriend then. How about the tattoo on her wrist?"

Brey sipped her tea while she pondered a moment.

"I don't know what language it was in…something I've seen before but-"

"It was Arabic," I interrupted. "I don't know what it said, but it was Arabic, I'm sure."

"Maybe it was something like a name, or a meaningful motto?" Brey shrugged.

"Maybe." I said, shrugging back. "I didn't notice anything else, did you?"

"She was walking in ridiculously high heels."

"So she has great balance?" I chuckled.

"Or great bravery," Brey agreed, turning to Sherlock, who had been silently studying our analysis.

"How did we do?" she asked.

"Not too bad actually," admitted Sherlock. "A few small errors here and there - and you obviously missed out most of the _important _things but…not bad."

I frowned. I thought we'd done rather well actually, and just once, I'd like to see Sherlock look impressed with me.

"What errors?" I questioned. "Please enlighten us."

"Gladly," Sherlock smiled. "You started off well; got everything about the watch spot-on – that was until you reached the part about the boyfriend."

"It wasn't her boyfriend?" Brey asked, sounding surprised, and even a little disappointed.

"Girlfriend." corrected Sherlock.

"Oh…" was all I could think of to say.

"Don't be too hard on yourself John, remember I made the same mistake about your sister with your phone? But then again, I did only have the phone to go by. Anyway, the tattoo on her wrist;" he continued. "You were quite right John, it _was_ Arabic. It read: 'Jane, mine forever more' which was another _small _clue that backed up my first ideas. The tattoo was in Arabic because her girlfriend is from Iraq. Her tan doesn't go below the collar, meaning she's been away somewhere hot recently; perhaps Jane has a family over there and she visit from time to time." He shrugged. "But you didn't do _too _badly.

We spent the next few minutes sipping tea and listening to Sherlock, as he told Brey and me other interesting facts about the waitress. I was just about to bite into my strawberry jam drowned toast, when my phone bleeped. I glanced down at it, frowning with slight confusion when I saw who the message was from.

"It's Mycroft." I thought aloud as I opened it. "That's strange, doesn't he prefer to-"

"Talk, yes," finished Sherlock. "Unless he is very irritated – in which case he would indeed text." Sherlock sighed. "Texting is Mycroft's form of the 'silent treatment'…so to speak."

I looked down at the text, and it read:

'Inform Sherlock that if he ever takes my possessions again, the consequences will be _extremely_ severe. MH.'

"Sherlock, what have you done now?" I asked in much the same way you would talk to a naughty puppy.

"He was asking for it!" Sherlock protested.

"Tell me."

Sherlock mumbled something about an umbrella.

"You stole his umbrella?" I exclaimed.

"_Borrowed, _I _borrowed _his umbrella. I did give it back."

"Well why is he so…" I trailed off. Sherlock's eyes were twinkling with a look I knew only too well. "What did you do to it?"

"Well, I may have poked lots of holes in it…"

A stunned silence fell between us. Then Brey let out a snort of laughter, earning her a disapproving glance from me.

"I'm sorry." she chuckled, trying to stop. "It's just…doesn't Mycroft work for the Government? Well, won't he have all high tech security and stuff?"

Sherlock pondered a moment.

"It took me 30 minutes to get in and out of there, so I suppose it was pretty 'high-tech stuff' as you put it – well, I'm sure Mycroft thought it was anyway."

I shook my head.

"Sherlock…"

"What? I was _bored."_

Brey tried to disguise her laugh as a cough and then looked sheepishly at the floor. Sherlock sat quietly with his arms folded like a scolded child.

"Although I would have liked to see the look on his face when he opened it…" Sherlock murmured so quietly I almost didn't hear. Brey must have heard him though as she began another hysterical laughing fit: and this time Sherlock joined in.

"Stop it, the pair of you!" I hissed, trying to repress a smile of my own. "People are staring!"

Despite my attempt to remain composed, within a few seconds I was laughing along with them. An elderly couple at the table opposite glared at us and got up to leave; only making us laugh harder.

"Oh God," I said, wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes. "I can't remember the last time I laughed like that!"

"You should laugh more often," Sherlock chuckled.

"Kind of hard when I'm hanging around dead bodies half the week. We're not always like this-" I said, turning to Brey…but she was staring at something outside.

"Him," she said, pointing to a man in his early 30's wearing a grey business suit. His eyes looked narrow and shifty; his mouth was in a thin, grim line – a suspicious looking character if ever there was one.

"Bingo," Sherlock agreed, setting off towards the door.

"Sherlock, wait, how are we going to-"

The two of them had already hurried across the street. I rolled my eyes, and ran after them.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi guys! I hope your all enjoying the story so far. Thanks again to my beta BlueMoonOnTheRise for all her awesome editing and help :) Don't know what I would do without you Naomi ;) Here's part 5! Hope you guys like it!  
><em>

Into the Deep part 5

Sherlock rapped loudly on the door, and it was almost instantly opened by the man in the grey suit. Malithque. Up close I could distinguish his mousy features in greater detail. His pinched face was pale with worry as he hesitantly peered out at us.

"Hi - Mr Malithque?" Sherlock asked, putting on his brightest smile. "I think we left our duster in here when we were cleaning your room earlier today. I'm terribly sorry."

"You are room service?" Malithque inquired; his voice heavy with a Spanish accent. He looked the three of us up and down suspiciously. "The girl also?"

"Work experience." Brey explained.

Malithque frowned.

"As cleaner?"

"All the good ones were taken; it was either this or the slaughterhouse."

She smiled sweetly at him after the word 'slaughterhouse', and Malithque looked even more uneasy.

Despite the fact that I knew Brey disliked Irene, I couldn't help but notice she'd picked up a few 'tricks' from her mentor. That smile she did that seemed to put Malithque on edge was spookily similar to the one Irene gave me whenever Sherlock wasn't looking. It was at that moment that I realised something – whether she liked it or not, Brey wasn't as different to Irene as she thought.

"Your uniforms?" Malithque asked, doubtfully eying up Sherlock and I.

"We just got off." I told him. "We're on our way to a stag do. The Boss told us to run up here and get the duster before we left."

Malithque didn't look too sure.

"I'm very busy," he said. "Please come back tomorrow…"

The door began to close, but Sherlock's foot blocked it at the last moment.

"We'll only be a minute," he said, pushing it open and striding inside.

"I really must insist you-"

"And I insist that you sit down and stay quiet… or things are going to take a rather nasty turn for you, Mr Malithque," Sherlock growled impatiently; pointing the gun he had taken from his pocket at Malithque's disproportionately small head. Malithque's eyes widened in fear, but he said nothing, and obliged by sitting on the end of the bed.

Once Sherlock was sure Malithque wasn't going to do anything rash, he nodded to Brey and me. We closed the door behind us and began searching the room for evidence.

"Now…Mr Malithque," Sherlock said, as I began rooting through the wardrobe. "Here's how it's going to work: I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them. _Honestly_ – have you got that? Marvellous!" He continued before Malithque could reply. "First of all, tell us how you killed your business partner, Dennis Filch."

"I…I don't know what you're talking-"

"Don't waste my time, we haven't got all day!" Sherlock sighed with frustration. "I'll be more specific, since you don't seem very bright: how did the people you _hired _kill your business partner?"

"Who are you?" Malithque countered, as boldly as he could.

"Your worst nightmare unless you start answering my questions," Sherlock snarled. "Oh…"

He paused. I knew what that 'oh' meant.

"Oh, but I can't be your worst nightmare can I? You already have one; I can see it in your eyes… right now, I'm pointing a gun at your head and although you're afraid you aren't _terrified._ I know who you are terrified of though."

Sherlock lent in closer but his voice was as clear as day even from where I was standing.

"_Moriarty."_

Malithque let out a little gasp and when I turned around I saw his face had gone beyond pale – it was deathly white.

"How…how do you know t-that name?" he stammered.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a genius I know practically _everything_." Sherlock scoffed, turning around to give Brey a wink and flash me a wry grin.

"Except that the Earth goes around the Sun…" I muttered under my breath, but Sherlock still heard.

"This isn't the time John!" he snapped.

"Guys…" Brey murmured from across the room, but Sherlock was too busy dealing with Malithque.

"Where is Moriarty?" he pressed.

"I don't know! I swear I-"

"Sherlock…"

"What?" Sherlock demanded; eyes blazing furiously as he turned to face Brey. She didn't have a chance to tell him. Instead, his question was answered by a loud knock coming from the other side of the door. We froze.

"Help!" Malithque cried. "Help! Help! I-"

Sherlock knocked Malithque over the head with the butt of - yes; _my _gun, damn him - and he fell to the floor, quite unconscious. But the damage was already done and within moments the door was barged open; revealing six burly men – their faces screwed up in anger.

"Ah." Sherlock looked from the six men, to me, to Brey and finally to the unconscious Malithque lying by his feet. "There's a perfectly rational explanation for all of this…"

The largest of the men let out a battle roar and charged at Sherlock; who leapt over his head like a cougar and landed in a forward roll. Two more blundered towards me. I scanned the room for a weapon and found it in a small chair. It crashed down onto the first of the two men – letting out a satisfying crack as it smashed against his skull.

The second paused a short moment; seeming to weigh up his options. Then, he revealed a pocket knife and slashed the air threateningly. I tried to back away but tripped over his companion's figure. Scrambling further away, I desperately tried to put some distance between myself and the hulking mass towering above.

_Thump._

My heart sank as the cool surface of the wall pressed against my back. The man grinned down at me menacingly. I was trapped.

"Hey! Incredible hulk!"

The man frowned in confusion just as a high-heeled boot swept his legs from underneath him.

"Johnny-boy! Pleased to see me?" Irene teased. _Damn. _Why did it have to be her?

"How did you-?"

"Sherlock texted me." The man groaned as she kicked him in the stomach, so that he curled up into a foetal position on the floor. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Irene pounced onto one of the two men facing Brey; temporarily sending him into a fit of mad panic.

From the ground, I found myself observing the frenzy around me with a strange fascination. Brey smashed her opponent's jaw with a right uppercut and then, before he could regain his balance, threw him over her hip and crashing down onto the floor. To her left, Sherlock was fending off the largest of the group; his swift, sharp movements rendering the giant helpless. The man fell to the floor and Sherlock turned away to give Irene a hand with her foe. But wait – the man was getting up again; coming towards Sherlock with a curved dagger tight in his grip. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd picked myself up and was hurtling towards him –yelling with fury as I dived onto his bulky frame. My attack took him by surprise, and we both went tumbling across the room; finally landing in a heap by the wardrobe.

Irene delivered one move violent kick to her opponent's groin and then it was over.

As soon as the last man fell, Sherlock's eyes scanned the room frantically; coming to resting on me. He seemed to physically relax when he saw I was unhurt and came over to help me up.

"Nice uppercut Brey," Irene praised as she examined her boots for any impairment. "Did some serious damage there."

Brey blinked at her.

"Really?" She broke out into a huge smile. "Wow, thanks Irene – that really means a lo-"

"But your scissor kicks are appalling. How many times have I told you that it's a flick, not a thrust? The flick makes the impact _far_ greater." Irene sighed. "But then I suppose you are just a _child._"

I could see Brey physically wince at the word '_child_'. Her smile faded and was replaced by a look that seemed to say 'I expected no better'. Irene no doubt knew the effect the comment had on Brey, and looked rather satisfied with herself. Once again, I found myself fighting the urge to slap her and then tell her she was a snotty little-

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, rushing from my side towards the bed. Cursing, he sprinted out into the hallway. Confused, I looked down at the bed to see what was wrong. Nothing was there. Malithque was gone.

"Sherlock wait!"

I dashed after the detective as fast as I could; ignoring the fact that his legs were much longer than mine and he'd had a head start. I reached the front door of the lobby and scanned the busy street for him. There – in the middle of the road. My heart skipped a beat as he dodged an oncoming motorcycle.

"Sherlock, what the _hell _are you doing?" I muttered, desperately trying to reach him through the sea of traffic.

A few meters away stood Malithque. Was he…was he sobbing? No…he wasn't going to-

_Smash._

The double-decker bus slammed into Malithque's slight frame. Even from here, the crunch as machine made impact upon flesh and bone made me flinch. Horrified screams pierced the air as pedestrians gazed upon the crushed remains of the Spanish racehorse owner; his blood smeared across the dark road, his mutilated body blocking the horde of cars piling up behind it.

Sherlock turned towards me – his lips set in a grim line. For many, this was the last of Theo Malithque, but that didn't matter to Sherlock. It never did. No, for Sherlock, this was the last of our only lead.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! Anyone still reading this thankyou so much! Just a couple more parts to go now :) Hope everyone is looking forward to Sherlock series two! I'm going mental and annoying the hell out of my family going on about it! Thanks again to my beta BlueMoonOnTheRise! People reading this should really check out some of her stories! I just read her Sherlock advent calendar and it's pure epic (I know it's after christmas now but you should still check it out). Here's part 6, hope you guys like it._

"Think – _think damn it_!" Sherlock growled, tugging desperately at his dark locks as he paced frantically around the room. "There must be something I'm missing!"

"Oh Sherlock, do sit down! You'll make holes through the floor if you carry on for much longer." Irene sighed, perched upon the arm of the couch as she admired her faultless nails.

Sherlock paused a moment and gave her a look of annoyance, but it slowly began to soften as she turned her big dark eyes towards him.

"Come. Sit," she said - and surprisingly, he did. I frowned in confusion. Getting Sherlock to do what he was told was like telling a cat to swim in a freezing lake: pointless and unrewarding. Irene just seemed to have a power over him that made my blood boil. I fought to suppress the growl of rage I could feel rumbling in my throat, and distracted myself by going to the kitchen to make some tea.

It had been three hours since the episode at the hotel. Sherlock and I had thought it best that we took off before the police arrived, but Irene had told Brey to clean up the hotel room – meaning making sure the men didn't wake up for at least a few hours, and fixing the door so that they wouldn't be found. She'd come back about an hour later and had been clicking away on her laptop ever since.

"Tea?" I asked as I passed her.

"Please," she answered, flashing me a grateful smile. "Milk, no sugar."

Brey turned her eyes back to the screen and began tapping at the keys again. To me – for whom it took at least an hour to type up one page of my blog – it looked pretty impressive.

"Um…what exactly are you doing, by the way?"

She held up a small phone connected to the computer.

"Malithque's," she explained. "He left it in a jacket I found in his wardrobe. I'm trying to hack into it to get information but it's been heavily encrypted."

She saw me looking doubtful and her face set into a grim line.

"I know," she sighed. "I'm grasping at straws here but I don't know what else to do. Unless Sherlock comes up with something mind-blowing I don't think we're going to track him down." Brey shrugged. "The man's a psycho but there's no denying Jim Moriarty's damn good at what he does."

As much as I hated to admit it, Brey was right. Still, I didn't think Sherlock was going to let this go. Dammit, I _knew_ he wouldn't let this go. This was the biggest challenge Sherlock had ever faced and I could tell he secretly loved it. This was all a game for Sherlock and Jim. A battle of intellects. There was something about the way Sherlock's eyes were glowing so fiercely that told me he wouldn't stop until Jim was found. He wouldn't stop until one of them reigned victorious. That look in his eyes should have sickened me but it didn't. Instead, it filled me with a strange urge to protect him; to stand at his side and fight.

Sherlock turned his head to see me staring at him and frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Tea?"

"Please."

"Coffee for me Johnny – black, no sugar!" Irene winked at Sherlock. "I'm already sweet enough."

Fuming, I headed back towards the kitchen and turned the kettle on. The soft hiss of the boiling water calmed me and I felt my tense muscles begin to relax. Someone came up behind me and cleared their throat.

"Um, John," Sherlock said, looking down at the floor awkwardly. "The um…thing. The thing you did at the hotel. When you…that was…um…"

"Good?" I asked, smiling slightly.

"Yes...that."

I chuckled.

"I'm going to have to stop saving your life or you might actually start saying the word 'thank you'."

Sherlock mouth curved up into a small smile.

"I wouldn't count on it."

The kettle let out a small click and I turned to open the fridge. Ignoring the severed head still occupying the top shelf, I scanned the contents in search of the milk. Instead, I found a note: '_Out of milk. SH'_

"Yes, I can bloody well see that Sherlock," I muttered under my breath. I pulled my coat on and started towards the door. I swear I got more milk only yesterday…we were going through gallons of the stuff.

"John," Sherlock called. "Where are you-?"

"Milk."

"Oh." He settled back down into his chair.

"Can I come?" Brey asked, just as I reached for the door handle. "I need some air or I swear to God, I will go insane."

She glared at the mobile in disgust.

"I don't know what Jim did to this phone but I've never seen anything like it. It will take me at least another two hours to crack it."

I nodded and she gently placed her laptop onto the couch next to Sherlock; handling it as if it were made of delicately thin glass. I raised an eyebrow and she gave me a look.

"What?" she demanded. "This is the new Macbook Pro!"

My eyebrow rose higher.

She gave me a look of disbelief then just shook her head and sighed.

"Come on, let's go."

* * *

><p>"So, the guy jumped out the window and onto a <em>train<em>?" I exclaimed.

"I know!" Brey laughed. "So Irene tells me to handle the bride and the rest of the guests and then she jumps out after him. She's wrestling with this guy on top of a _moving train_ and I'm on a stage in front of the whole wedding reception just like 'Uh, hey!'"

We reached the top of the stairs and I began to turn the door handle.

"Do you know," I started. "That's almost exactly like the time Sherlock and I-"

The door swung open and my heart stopped. Sherlock was pinned down on the couch; Irene's curvy frame hugged close against him. Her hands were tangled up in his hair, their lips touching as they drank in one another.

After what seemed like a lifetime but was in fact probably just a few seconds they paused to gasp for air.

"Woops!" Irene said as she pushed Brey's laptop onto the floor with her foot. Sherlock made a move to pick it up but she stopped him by putting her hand on his shoulder. "Leave it." She chuckled. "Brey will never know. The poor child has barely enough brain cells to function. The only reason I keep her around is so she can run my little errands here and there. Still, at least she is obedient…well, most of the time. John seems a little more stubborn." She laughed again. "Maybe we should swap! Brey practically worships the ground you walk on so she'll always do as you say and John…well, I could handle _John_."

Irene kissed him again and Sherlock made a mumble of what sounded like agreement. I couldn't move; couldn't breathe. I was transfixed by the horrible scene that was playing out before me. It just didn't make sense. Sherlock who was married to his work, Sherlock who thought dating was dull, Sherlock who was kissing…_her._

I would have stood there all day if Brey hadn't snapped me out of it. She dropped the bag onto the floor beside me – the small _thud _bringing me back to my senses. I turned to face her. Tears welled up silently in her eyes: all the hurt and emotion I felt mirrored perfectly in her expression.

She bolted down the stairs and out the door.

The noise made Sherlock sit upright, gently pushing Irene off him so he could investigate. His eyes rested on me; frozen in the doorway.

"John…" he sounded as horrified as I felt. "John, I can-"

"Explain?" I asked, feeling my patience finally snap. "Oh, no need. I can see what's going on here just _fine_ but do you know what Sherlock? I've had enough."

I stormed right up to him so our faces were but a few inches apart.

"You and Irene can snog each other as much as you want but there is no way you are going to talk about Brey like that. Me?" I laughed harshly without humour. "Me, I can take it! Say whatever the hell you want about me and see where that gets you but don't you _dare _take it out on that girl. She looks up to you Sherlock, you're her idol. Do you know what that's done to her – coming in to not only see you two doing…doing that but insulting her as _well_?"

I turned away from him to Irene, who was watching the whole scene with a look of utter boredom.

"And _you._" I walked over and she simply raised a perfect eyebrow as if you say _'Excuse me?'_ "You can just wipe that look off your face. She looks up to you too. You're her mentor! She may not like you but she respects you – which, I personally think you don't deserve you _bitch._ I don't know what the hell Sherlock sees in you but just for the record, I certainly don't see it."

She'd stood up now; towering above me in those killer heels. I didn't care. "_I'll knock her off her high horse." _Funny how that expression seemed to fit this situation perfectly.

I jerked my head back towards Sherlock.

"Say what you said to him about me to my face." I snarled. "I _dare _you."

I felt Sherlock come up behind me. "John I really think you should calm down-"

"No Sherlock!" I shouted, turning to face him again. "I've never seen you like this! You're not even _you _anymore!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I laughed again, shocked by the cold, humourless edge to it. It didn't sound at all like me. What was I doing? It was no use.

"Sherlock," I sighed. "Just…just forget it; I'm going out to find Brey."

My phone rang and I stopped. _"Perfect. That's all I need,"_ I thought as I dug it out my pocket.

"What?" I snapped, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"_Ohh_, someone woke up the wrong side of the bed this morning."

No. It wasn't possible. That voice…that smooth, taunting voice.

"What's the matter Johnny boy?" Jim teased. "Cat got your tongue?"

Something in my body language must have changed, because Sherlock was right beside me now – his concerned hand on my shoulder. Despite the fact I was still angry with him, it gave me the strength to answer.

"What do you want?" I whispered.

"Well…a trip to Hawaii, some new cufflinks – oh – and something to get all the bloodstains out of my suits would be _lovely_ but right now? I want you to be a good boy and put me on loudspeaker. Wouldn't want your friends missing out on our little chat now would we?"

Reluctantly, I obliged.

"There now," Jim said cheerfully. "Hello Sherlock! Been having fun following me around? To be honest, it's actually starting to get a little creepy. Have you got a strange obsession with me or something? Stalking really doesn't suit you my dear…"

"You're one to talk," Sherlock muttered; his expression unreadable. "What do you want?"

Jim made a tutting sound.

"My, my, why is everyone so impatient today? Well if you're going to be rude maybe I should just-"

"Spill it, Moriarty." I growled.

"Sherlock you really should keep your dog on a leash." Jim muttered.

"Well, I was just phoning up to tell you I've got a little visitor. Well…" he paused as if to think. "I say visitor – do visitors come willingly? She wasn't very keen I have to tell you. Care to say hello Miss Malford?"

I went cold. _Oh God._

_Brey._

Jim waited a few seconds before continuing.

"Hmm…she's being rather quiet now. I'm not sure why – you should have heard the language she was using earlier!" He chuckled and I could hear footsteps echoing from down the phone. "Nothing to say to your friends Brey? A little plea for help perhaps? Maybe a whimper or two for added effect?"

I heard something that sounded like someone spitting. I must have guessed correctly, as Jim made a sound of annoyance and I heard a slap. No cry followed.

"Charming." Jim murmured. "The youth of today are so polite aren't they? But she doesn't seem very chatty. Perhaps I should use some…_persuasion._"

Jim must have given some sort of signal to an associate because a second later I heard a sharp crack followed by a scream of pure agony. I winced and clenched my fists in anger. Another crack followed and the scream went up a pitch. I felt sick.

"_Stop it!" _I yelled. "_Moriarty stop this now!"_

Jim clicked his fingers and the screaming stopped. Instead, it was replaced by muffled whimpers of pain.

"In case you didn't know, that was the sound of Brey's fingers breaking – one on each hand, I like to keep things even…" Jim paused again. "Actually, I don't - I never keep things even, I always win. Seb darling, break another on the right."

"_No!" _Sherlock yelled but it was too late. Another sharp crack filled the air – followed by Brey's agonizing screams.

A moment passed and the screaming stopped. I could hear Brey breathing heavily down the other end of the phone.

"Got anything to add now that you're feeling a lot more vocal?" Jim asked her.

"Go to hell," she snarled; the pain in her voice made me flinch.

"I've already been, and it's a lot warmer than that glare you're giving me. Talk about _icy!_"

Jim's cheerful, mocking voice made my teeth clench. He really was enjoying this.

"Now, Sherlock." Jim turned his attention back to us. "You and your little friends come and meet me at the usual place, _now_, and for every minute that you're late I'll get Sebastian here to break another of little Brey's fingers. Oh, and once we run out of fingers…well, we'll just have to start breaking something else. Ciao!"

The line went dead.

I looked at Irene and Sherlock – their faces grim and hard.

"I hope you two are happy," I said bitterly, turning from them towards the door. On second thought, I looked down at the coffee table and paused.

I bent down, re-loaded the gun and stuck it in my pocket. Strangely, the thought of having to shoot something calmed me. The smiley face in the wall came to mind but I shook it away.

Then, I thought of Irene.

I smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello to anyone who is still reading this! Here's part 7. As always thanks to my Beta BlueMoonOnTheRise ;) Hope you guys like it!_

I knew I should have gone after her.

I knew it as soon as Jim said her name.

Something had sparked within me then - that urge to protect.

I'd always had one. Even when I was little, whenever someone was getting bullied in the playground I would go over and sort it out.

I suppose that's one of the reasons I became an army doctor. I just…felt a _need _to help. A _need _to fight.

It seemed strongest with Sherlock. Almost immediately I had warmed to the stubborn, arrogant detective and felt a need to stand at his side: not only as a protector, but as his friend. As the months had gone by I'd hoped that he had grown to reciprocate some of these feelings. But now, as I thought back to the moment Irene had said those things…he hadn't stuck up for me.

To be honest, Sherlock hadn't even disagreed.

I glanced across at him now; he and Irene were sitting opposite me in the cab. Sherlock's brow was creased in concentration as he stared out the window. I could almost hear the cogs whirring inside his brain. Irene was sat beside him, looking just as thoughtful. That was, until she looked up and gave me a smug smile. Done with the subtle hints of my feelings towards the woman, I gave her a dirty look and went back to my thoughts.

The guilt was tearing away at me inside. The worst thing was that I knew how Brey felt. Just a few days ago, that had been me. I'd been the one in Jim's grasp; I'd been the puppet on his string.

_No, _I reminded myself. _She'll be feeling even worse. Not only ashamed, helpless and afraid but betrayed too. Betrayed and alone._

My hand tightened its grip on the handle of the cab. No one should feel like that. I was going to get her out of there.

Despite myself, I flicked another glance at the two figures opposite me. Correction_ – we _were going to get her out of there_. _Myself and the two androids.

Sherlock caught my gaze and tried a small smile. My heart wrenched, but I thought back to what had occurred in the flat and scowled in return; shifting my position so that I was facing the window again. Five minutes of intense staring intensely at traffic later, and the cab stopped.

We had arrived.

* * *

><p>"John!" Sherlock protested. "We can't go in there without at least some sort of method-"<p>

"_Yes, _Sherlock, we can. If you don't like it then you can stay out here."

"But it's a trap! Jim will be expecting us," Irene hissed.

"Obviously," I growled, rolling my eyes at them in that same, degrading manner Sherlock used with 'normal_'_ people. I'd had it up to here with the pair of them.

There was a lengthy pause; then…

"Fine," I snapped. "Sherlock and I will go around the front – Irene, you go around the back. While we distract Jim you grab Brey and get her out of there – that sound good with the two of you? _Great, _let's get moving - we haven't got all day."

I stormed off without pausing for even a second; reaching the doors and turning impatiently to Sherlock. He looked worried.

"John," he started. "I-"

"Save it, Sherlock," I barked, regretting it instantly.

Staying angry at Sherlock right now wasn't going to do anything to help Brey. If need be I could sulk later; but now wasn't the time. I sighed, and tried to soften my voice. "Look – let's just get this over with… okay?"

Sherlock's face was still lined with worry, but he gave me a quick nod and opened the door.

For the second time that day I reached for my gun – its cool metal frame in my hand calming me somewhat. I stepped forward – it was time.

Time to step into the monster's lair.

* * *

><p>Our footsteps echoed out across the dark room; the gentle lapping of the water the only other sound to be heard. My eyes scanned around for Brey - but it was too dark to see anything clearly. The only lights on were those beneath the water and even those were dim.<p>

"You took your time," Jim muttered from somewhere out in the shadows. "Not that I mind of course – we were two fingers away from breaking an arm!"

"Cut the crap Moriarty - where's Brey?" I growled.

Jim let out a low chuckle.

"My, my I see you've found your temper again Doctor Watson – you seemed to have misplaced it last time I met you. Then again, you did have a bomb strapped to your chest."

He clapped twice and light shone out across the room.

Just a few feet in front of Sherlock and I stood Jim, a man I didn't recognise, and a chair.

Upon that chair sat Brey.

Her head hung down, facing her lap. A veil of hair concealed most of her face, but I could just make out a long gash across her left cheek; a few brown locks stained by the dark red liquid seeping from it clung to her neck. Her feet were tied but – thankfully - her hands were hidden behind her back. I don't think I would have been able to contain my rage if I'd seen them.

"Well, isn't this nice?" Jim said enthusiastically. "It's the second time we've met here in one week – maybe we should form a club!"

"Marvellous – you bring the semtex and I'll bring the guns," Sherlock murmured sarcastically.

"Speaking of guns, Sherlock, I'd like you to introduce to Sebastian Moran. If you think John's good you should see the way Seb here handles a gun."

I looked back to the man standing to the left of Brey and for the first time took in his appearance.

His face was completely devoid of any emotion. Everything about him seemed…artificial. The immaculate suit, the blank expression. I was starting to wonder if he was actually human until his dusty blue eyes turned to stare back at me calmly. After a short moment he nodded in acknowledgement – tilting his head so slightly that I hardly noticed it.

"Do you like him?" Jim asked, sounding rather proud. "He often doesn't say much but he's really very handy to have around – good at sorting out problems for me… if you catch my drift."

Out of the corner of my eye I could make out a figure shifting about in the shadows. So Irene had decided to show then. Sherlock must have seen it too because he caught my gaze to show he understood.

"Okay Moriarty," he said. "You've got what you wanted – we came. Now what? Are you going to kill us or just mock us?"

"Sherlock – you make it sound like you don't want to be here!" Jim gasped in mock surprise. "And, after you've spent the last two days searching for me! You wound me Sherlock truly you d-"

Jim was cut off when Irene pounced out from the side; manoeuvring him into a headlock.

"Now, John!" Sherlock barked – diving at Moran. I rushed towards Brey but Irene's cry of alarm made me pause. Jim had escaped from her grasp and was threatening her with a small dagger. Her wild eyes turned desperately to me – almost pleadingly.

"John – the gun!" she begged. I looked at the instrument in my hand, its cool handle resting on my palm. Cursing my conscience, I lobbed it across to her –and instantly regretted my decision. Her pleading look morphed into a malicious grin. She snatched the gun out of the air and winked at me.

"Much obliged, Johnny Boy," she said, leering gleefully.

"_And _scene!" Jim shouted, twirling in delight.

Sherlock stopped grappling with Moran to frown in perplexity. In the moment's delay, Moran took the opportunity to fling the detective back towards me – giving me mere moments to react before Sherlock's lanky frame smashed into me.

Once we had regained our footing, I looked back to Jim's cold associate. His expression remained the same – the only sign he'd moved at all being a small crease in his suit, which he soon adjusted. He returned to his post beside Brey – who had finally looked up to show a similar expression to Sherlock's.

"_Fabulous,_ Miss Adler!" Jim praised, pecking her on both cheeks. "Simply fabulous! Couldn't have done better myself – well…maybe a little but then I am me."

"Irene?"

Sherlock's voice had taken on a tone I hadn't heard before. That is, except maybe once – the last time I came here, and he first saw me.

"Irene," he repeated. "What-"

Finally it dawned on him.

"No!" he whispered. "It's not…"

"What? You thought I actually liked _you?_" Irene threw back her head and laughed harshly. "Maybe once Sherlock – a long time ago. When I was young and foolish and you just swanned in with your clever little deductions and your sharp wit. I was hooked. Do you remember that night in Berlin?"

"The night you kissed her and left without another word - off on another of your cases and out the country by morning. _Aw_," Jim sneered.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Sherlock. _Admit it!"_ Jim suddenly switched his tone to that sinisterly high pitched screech. "She played you! Got the better of the great Sherlock Holmes."

He too laughed - but this had a manic, bordering on psychotic edge to it.

"And so did I. …Maybe you're not so great after all."

So many emotions flashed through Sherlock's eyes in that short moment. _Hurt. Pain. Anger._ Then it was gone – replaced by a calm mask that for some reason reminded me of Moran; shutting off all emotions and somehow, that made me feel worse for him.

"_You." _Brey sounded just as hurt as I knew Sherlock felt. She was looking Irene right in the eyes. "_How long…?"_

"_Brey," _Jim's tone turned to something that I might have confused with sympathy if I didn't know better. "Poor little Brey." He prowled over to her side and bent down to her ear. "Want to me to explain it all too you…_hmm?"_

Brey turned her gaze towards him.

"Don't patronize me you sick bastard," she snarled. "Either tell me or shut up and move away before I break through these ropes and slit your throat."

"Oh! She's feisty isn't she?" he laughed. "Maybe I was right all those years ago."

"What do you mean?" Brey asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Aw, sweet, she hasn't worked it out yet," Jim crooned. "I was there that night two years ago Brey."

What little colour Brey's face had left vanished instantly.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"I popped over to your martial arts class and a neat little idea flew into my head. I have to say you were _glorious! _You had a certain look in your eye when you threw someone over your hip or nailed a roundhouse kick to the face. Killer instinct." He smiled slowly. "_Potential."_

_Potential_. I thought back to what Brey has said to me two days ago: _"One day, Irene just turned up out of the blue…she just said I had 'potential'"_

Oh good God.

It seemed to dawn on Brey at the same moment. She slowly looked back up to Jim.

"It was _you,_" She said simply. "_You _killed my parents."

Jim shrugged.

"_Well, _technically it was Irene but I sent her to do it. Your daddy knew something about his boss he shouldn't have and I was hired to…sort it out. I was meant to kill you too but I thought you had something special. So I sent Irene to train you up like a little puppy." A manic glee sparkled into Jim's eyes. "Tell me Brey – what is it that you think Irene and yourself do?"

Brey looked lost for a moment before she answered.

"I…we….fought crime. Caught criminals or at least I thought…"

Irene pursed her lips and sashayed over to stand beside Jim.

"Sweetie, is that what you thought? I know Sherlock's worked it out." She turned her dark eyes towards us and Sherlock stiffened instantly. Irene simply winked in his direction and turned back to Brey. "Dear girl, I committed all those crimes! Jim told me what to do, I did it, covered up the evidence, then sent you on some wild goose chase while I pinned it on some poor sod who ended up taking the blame for what I'd done."

Brey looked ill. She shook her head slowly, not daring to believe it.

Jim put his head next to hers and whispered fiercely into her ear: "every time you 'solved a crime', Brey. _Every time_ you got it wrong. You convicted innocent people. Ruined their lives. You always got it _wrong!" _

Brey flinched on the final word. I wanted to do something but I didn't know what. She looked so…_broken._

"And you wouldn't believe what I had to put up with!" Irene exclaimed rather suddenly. "Every single day she went on and on about Sherlock!"

Irene threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, mimicking Brey's voice.

"Sherlock this, Sherlock that, John wrote about the time he and Sherlock – _who cares!"_ she snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock. "He certainly doesn't!"

Brey turned in our direction for a split second; tears glistening in her eyes. She seemed to force herself to look away; tearing her gaze away from the scene she thought would await her.

Brey thought she would be greeted by indifference.

Instead, Sherlock looked like his heart was breaking. I knew mine was.

Jim gave Irene a disapproving glance and tutted.

"Oh Irene, don't be so cruel!" he scolded. "I think it's rather sweet – her little 'crush' – and can you blame her? We've all had one!" Jim darted his gaze towards me. "Even the doctor over there."

I sighed inwardly. Was there anyone left who didn't think I was gay?

Something in my expression must have given away what I was thinking because Jim raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Oh come on! We all know you have one!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know what you mean." I shrugged.

Jim rolled his eyes.

"_Deniallllll!" _he sang. "No matter – Sherlock must know anyway."

He turned back to Brey. "And _you_ Miss Malford, are too far gone. Gone over to the side of the angels! The _boring_ side where no one has any fun. It really is a shame, you know. You had so much potential."

Jim sighed.

"Ah well. Kill her, Seb."


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello to anyone reading this! Sorry for the wait._

_Right, this is the second to last chapter so I hope you guys enjoy it :) Thanks again to my Beta BlueMoonOnTheRise for being fabulous as always ;) So here's part 8. Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>"No!" Sherlock and I cried simultaneously, moving forward to stop him. Irene pointed the gun towards us and shook her head slowly – daring us to take one more step.<p>

Jim tossed the dagger to Moran, who caught it with terrifying ease.

"A clean slice across the throat if you please, Seb – it will make a nice change from the usual bullet through the skull, or neck snapping that you seem so fond of." He stroked a lock of hair back behind Brey's ear – making her shiver with disgust. "Brey deserves special treatment – after all, _technically _she has been working for me for the past two years."

My hands were clenched at my sides; I urged them to do something – _anything_ - but I didn't know what. Beside me, Sherlock was so still I barely noticed him. Unless he was coming up with some genius scheme, we were trapped. There was nothing I could do.

Except….

"_Please_ Irene," I said, swallowing my pride as I looked straight at the woman pointing the gun at my chest. "You _must_ care for Brey in some way. You don't want to let this happen…do you?"

For a moment I thought it might actually work. I thought that Irene Adler might have one last shred of humanity in her.

I was wrong.

"_Sweet_ – he's resorted to begging," she sneered. "Thoroughly enjoyable Dr Watson, but there really is no need. I've been dying to get rid of the little rat for_ god _knows how long. I'm only disappointed that I don't get to do it myself-"

"Irene!" Jim snapped. "Do be quiet – my patience is growing thin."

Irene pursed her lips but said nothing.

Jim turned back to Moran.

"Come on then, I don't have all day. I need to get back in time for-"

"No."

Everyone froze.

For a moment I didn't know where the voice had come from. I didn't recognise it. Then I realised.

_It was Moran._

Irene was the first to respond, but even she had to take a moment to hide her shock.

"It speaks!" she laughed.

Jim ignored her and continued staring at Moran.

"_What?"_ he whispered.

"I said no."

Moran's voice carried a strange accent that I couldn't quite identify. Sort of a mixture between German and Irish…

Jim paused, and tried to laugh it off.

"Seb, come now – enough of the games!"

Moran didn't so much as break a smile.

"I'm sorry. I cannot kill a young girl when she has no way of defending herself."

"_Defenceless?_" Jim's tone had developed a dangerous edge as he took a step towards Moran. "For God's sake Sebastian – did you _see_ what she did to my snipers?"

"I'm sorry," Moran repeated. "I cannot do it."

"_Now you develop a conscience?" _Jim screeched. "After all those people I've seen you kill without a second thought – you chose _now_ as the time?"

Moran said nothing, but carried on staring right back at Jim. I had to hand it to him; not many men would have the courage to defy Moriarty – or at least not whilst looking him in the eye.

Maybe there was more to this man than I first thought.

"Sebastian Moran – you kill that girl _right this instant_ or I will strip the flesh from your bones and polish you up into a hat stand."

Moran flipped the dagger around and handed it to Moriarty.

"I know you Jim," he said quietly. "I will go with your decision whatever it may be, but I will not play my part in this task. This is something I simply cannot do."

Jim seemed to pause, as if to think it over. For a brief moment I could have sworn there had been a glimpse of emotion in those soulless eyes of his; but I'd dealt with this monster for long enough to know that it was probably just a trick of the light. Still, the fact that this man had actually made Moriarty _hesitate _baffled me enough that I failed to notice that beside me, Sherlock was already formulating his plan.

Irene rolled her eyes and groaned; breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Ugh, you stupid oaf!"

She stepped towards Brey.

"Let me do it-"

Sherlock took the chance he had been waiting for and leapt into action; moving so fast I barely saw it. Next thing I knew, Irene was knocked down on the floor and Sherlock was sprinting past her towards Moriarty.

Coming back to my senses, I followed suit; bounding over Irene and snatching the gun out of her reach.

"You okay?" I asked, as I knelt down beside Brey.

"Never better," she replied sarcastically; doing her best to sound composed…although tears were running silently down her face.

"No it's fine, I've got it," she said, as I made to untie her hands.

Brey hissed in pain as she pulled them free. When she brought them forward, I could barely refrain from hissing myself.

They were swollen and shaking; the fresh blood they were coated in must have been why she slipped her bonds so easily. Moran might have an issue with killing Brey, but he certainly didn't have a problem with disfiguring her hands.

Brey went to work on her feet but I stopped her and did it myself. I was almost finished when she cried "John!" - but it was too late.

Something hard connected with my face and I went flying. The world was spinning, but I managed to scramble in the direction that I hoped was away from my attacker.

Once my vision had cleared a little I discovered that said attacker was Jim. I was about to be reacquainted myself with his pointed shoe when Sherlock whistled from behind; Jim turned, and Sherlock's fist connected with his face.

With Jim out of the way, Sherlock went to help me up. Brey cried out in warning again, and Moran charged into Sherlock; causing them to stagger away in a grappling mass of punches and kicks.

Jim's nose was spewing hot red liquid and he seemed dazed from his collision with the detective's fist.

Seizing my chance, I aimed the pistol at his heart and pulled the trigger.

I didn't even see it happen. Not really.

There was a flash of black and then Moran was lying on the floor. Somehow, he'd moved so fast that he'd been able to dive into Jim's path and take the bullet himself.

Moran grunted slightly as he dragged himself up off the floor. He looked down at the wound to his shoulder with a strange fascination – frowning at the blood seeping through his suit.

"_Damn…_" I heard him mutter. "This was my last suit without blood stains."

A battle cry from behind turned my attention away from the odd scene before me. Irene's heeled boot connected with my face and I toppled over into the pool.

As I swam to the surface I had the strangest sense of déjà vu. I made a mental note to keep away from pools in the future rather than to keep up this habit of unintentionally falling into them.

I wiped the water from my eyes and tried to catch up with the battle.

To the right, Sherlock was ducking and dodging the dagger Irene had somehow got a hold of in the fray. She slashed it across his left cheek; leaving a long, deep gash that began to drip blood down his chiselled face. Grinning menacingly, she made to repeat the action when Brey (finally free of her bonds) dived on her back; temporarily disorientating her - so that Sherlock could kick the blade out of her grasp. It made a small 'plop' as it landed in the pool, where it could do no more harm.

To the left, I saw Moran – now barely able to stand up – trying to drag Jim away from the frenzy. Jim was making sounds of protest and demanding Moran let him go but the man didn't even seem to notice. Moriarty's safety seemed his prime concern and _nothing_ was going to stand in the way of that.

Something caught my eye by the side of the pool and I swam towards it. Once again, I aimed the gun at Jim's chest but something made me freeze.

Moran met my gaze.

It was at that moment, as I saw this man clutching his wounded shoulder with one hand, and dragging Moriarty away with the other, that something strange happened.

It was a combination of two things that stopped me from pulling the trigger.

The first was an army memory. It was the day I was shot in the shoulder. My friend, Ian, had also been wounded. He was in a bad way and I refused to leave him behind. He'd protested, begging me to save myself, but I didn't stop. I'd dragged him all the way back to the base.

He'd died three hours later.

The second thing wasn't a memory at all… and yet it felt _so _real.

I imagined Sherlock at gunpoint. I didn't know where we were. All that I knew was that I was running towards him, screaming his name. He looked at me at the last moment and said 'John.'…then there was a bang and a single drop of blood formed in the centre of his forehead.

He crashed to the ground – limp and lifeless.

All of this flashed through my mind in mere seconds. It was then that I realised that this man, the man I first thought to be artificial, cold and emotionless, wasn't so different from me at all.

He was trying to protect Jim, just as I tried to protect Sherlock.

He stood by Jim no matter what he did, just as I did with Sherlock.

He took a bullet for Jim, just as I would for Sherlock.

I felt I had an understanding with this man, even though I'd just met him.

Now I understood that it was the same with Jim and Sherlock.

_Two sides of the same coin._

Moran seemed to sense this and nodded slightly in my direction. I returned the gesture and with that, he and Jim disappeared through the exit.

I was sure I would regret letting them go later, but I didn't have time to dwell on it now.

"_John!" _Brey screamed.

I turned to see her on the floor. Irene was jabbing and kicking Sherlock with all her might. Sherlock was only just able to hold her off; he seemed to be swaying a little on his feet and the blood coming from his gash was clearly clouding his vision. I could tell he was almost spent.

I hauled myself out of the water and - taking the gun with me - sprinted over.

I was on the other side of the pool. There was no way I would make it in time and I didn't have a clear shot on Irene without endangering Sherlock.

Brey knew it too. Making a sound of desperation, she jumped up and with every last ounce of her strength took a well-aimed roundhouse kick to the back of Irene's head.

Irene snarled and turned her attention to Brey. Elbowing her in the face, Irene grabbed her by the right hand – bending Brey's broken fingers back until she howled with pain, almost falling to her knees once again.

But Irene saw me coming, kept Brey up off the floor and sent her flying into me. Instinctively, I dropped the gun and caught her; gently letting her collapse into an exhausted heap at my feet.

"Well Johnny-boy," Irene purred. "Looks like it's just you and me."

"Not quite," Sherlock said, moving in towards Irene. She dismissed him with a quick jab to the face and he stumbled back to the wall, sliding slowly down until he was a crumpled mess on the floor; trying to get up again but too far weary to do so.

"I'm going to enjoy this…" she continued, as if nothing had happened. "I hated you the moment I saw you, Dr Watson, and that hatred has just grown the more time I've spent in your company – blossoming into a distinct loathing. "

I shrugged.

"Believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual." We were circling each other now; like two lions, challenging each other's authority.

"I'm going to make him watch," she said, eyes twinkling, almost as if she was imagining it. "I'm going to break every bone in your body, cause you incomprehensible amounts of agony and make you scream until your voice rattles away into a-"

I yawned, and she stopped; raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Boring you Dr Watson?"

"No – sorry - um, is this monologue going to be long?" I asked. "It's just I've been _dying_ to punch you for days and…"

"Why?" Irene laughed. "Jealous? Jim said you would be."

She turned to look at Sherlock.

"The detective, blinded by love and the soldier blinded by envy. It was just too ea-"

_Boring._ I rolled my eyes and smashed my fist into her face; the sharp pain of the impact releasing the tension that had been building up over the past two days.

_God that felt good._

Irene staggered backwards until she regained her footing. Wiping the blood from her mouth, she pounced; jamming her sharp elbow into my windpipe.

I doubled over. Panicking, I desperately tried to gasp for air; the realisation that not much was coming making me wild with fear. I looked up to see Irene gleefully leering at me.

"Say goodbye to your detective Johnny-boy." Her voice seemed distant.

I closed my eyes, knowing the end was coming.

_Bang._

I waited. The pain was still there, but it hadn't increased. Suddenly terrified, I slowly opened one eye, and then the other.

Irene was staring down at her chest; shocked by the blood seeping through her tight-fitting leather jacket.

"That was for my parents you _bitch._"

The gun clattered from Brey's swollen hands just as Irene fell to the floor.

Wheezing, I hopelessly tried to breathe; the lack of air becoming unbearable. My eyelids suddenly felt too heavy.

The last thing I saw was Brey mouthing my name but I was already drifting away.

Everything went dark.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello if anyone is still reading this! Thank-you for persevering. This is the final chapter now - I hope you've enjoyed it :) Lots and lots of thanks to my beta BlueMoonOnTheRise for all of her help - she's been epic and my story would not have been half as good without her help :) And also she's just really awesome in general and you should really check out some of her stories.**  
><strong>_

_Hope you guys enjoy it x  
><em>

**Into the Deep Part 9 (Draft 1)**

When I awoke, I found myself back in 221B, lying on the couch with Lestrade, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson all looming over me; brows furrowed with concern.

From what I could gather, Irene was dead but the gun used to kill her hadn't been found. Both Mrs Hudson and Sherlock had said nothing to Lestrade about Brey and had put together some story that Moran had killed Irene because she'd become a liability to Moriarty. Without hesitation I had followed suit, realising it was the only way to protect the girl from being charged with Irene's murder (not to mention the countless crimes she had unknowingly committed with Ms Adler over the past two years). Lestrade didn't seem to buy it, but I think he trusted us enough to leave it be.

Once Lestrade had gone, Brey emerged from upstairs and we tended to our wounds. Mrs Hudson was a saint – as always - fussing over the three of us like a frantic mother tending to her injured children. She kept muttering away about how silly we were, and how we should really go to the hospital to get ourselves properly checked over, but she hadn't pushed the matter. She seemed to understand the need for secrecy, and knew that something else was going on.

Once Mrs Hudson had gone back downstairs an awkward silence fell.

None of us wanted to speak of what had occurred that evening but we didn't have much choice.

"I'd best be going." Brey said finally, beginning to move towards the door. "Sorry for all the trouble I've caused…"

"Wait – what?" I croaked – my voice still hoarse from when Irene had elbowed me in the throat. "Sit down Brey, this isn't your fault at all-"

"Yes it is!" she said, her voice cracking. "It's all my fault. I've just been _so stupid." _

She laughed humourlessly.

"Irene and Jim have been playing me for years. Even today – if I hadn't been captured you guys wouldn't have been hurt. If I hadn't been so stupid-"

"No Brey," Sherlock said suddenly, looking up from his seat in the corner. "You're not stupid – don't ever say that."

That was the first time he'd spoken since Lestrade had left. Even then he had only answered when necessary. He had been nestled in the corner, battling with his own thoughts and we'd known better than to intrude.

That - and the fact I still didn't know where I stood with him.

Brey blinked at him, looking confused.

"Why say that?" she asked. "You of all people? To you I'm just some idiotic, deluded child who runs around trying to be half as good as…well, you."

She shook her head.

"Don't take pity on me, Sherlock. I couldn't handle it. Just…_don't._"

Sherlock stood up abruptly and grabbed Brey by the shoulders; she flinched but didn't pull away.

"I don't pity you Brey," he said seriously. "Don't _ever_ think that."

He paused, seeming to struggle with what to say next.

"Irene was _wrong._ I don't…_not_ care."

A million emotions flashed across Brey's face, like she didn't know which one to succumb to.

"Stay," I whispered, so that she turned her attention to me. "It's not safe for you out there. Not yet. You're hurt and you need to rest."

"You can take my room," Sherlock said, turning away. When Brey made no attempt to move he added: "go, it's fine, I'll take the couch."

Too stunned to speak, Brey slowly made her way down the hall, limping slightly on her right leg. She'd been through a lot. It was going to take some time.

Sherlock sighed wearily, collapsed back into his chair and closed his eyes.

I didn't know what to say.

What could I say?

The woman he'd fallen for had betrayed him, but I didn't think that was the worst thing for him.

He'd gotten it wrong.

In all the time I'd known him, Sherlock had never got anything wrong before. Sure, he sometimes missed the odd little detail on occasion, but on the whole his deductions were outstandingly accurate.

But I don't think that was all. Sherlock always remained detached from his emotions – never letting them cloud his judgement. Emotions were a weakness. He'd told me himself countless times but I'd never understood that until now.

After a few moments of silence I realised I was still occupying the couch.

"Do you want me to-?"

"No," he said, without opening his eyes.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the first thing I noticed was how sore my throat felt. The second thing was how swollen my face was when I reached up to wipe it. Hissing in pain, I prodded my left cheek experimentally; soon realising that really wasn't a good idea.<p>

"Here," Sherlock said, beside me in a flash with a glass of water in his outstretched hand.

"No," he added when I tried to thank him. "Drink first, talk after."

_Good plan,_ I thought; feeling instant relief as the cool water trickled down my throat.

"Brey?" I asked, setting the glass down on the table.

"Sleeping."

"Oh."

"John?"

"Hm?"

"Are we…okay?"

I looked up at him. He reminded me of a naughty puppy begging for forgiveness. The swollen lump on his forehead and the long gash along his left cheek made him look even more vulnerable. It was so out of character that I couldn't stop myself from chuckling.

He frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing," I laughed. "Just your face, it was…never mind. Are you trying to apologise?"

He looked horrified.

"Of course not."

"You are!"

"I am not!"

"I never thought I'd see the day: Sherlock Holmes apologising…what has the world come to?"

Sherlock looked like he was going to make some sort of comeback but then thought better of it. Instead he gave me a tentative smile.

"So?" he said.

"So what?"

"So are we…" he cleared his throat, "Good?"

I grinned at him.

"Yeah, we're good."

I heard Brey approaching from the other room; she peered around the doorframe – her hair sticking up at odd angles and a puzzled look on her face.

"…Mycroft just called me," she mumbled sleepily.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"I was wondering when that was going to happen…" Sherlock said calmly.

Brey sat down next to Sherlock, staring at the phone in bewilderment.

"He's offered me a position in the British Government as an undercover agent."

I gawped at her. She met my gaze.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I know."

"But surely if he knows who you are then he knows about all the stuff you and Irene did," I said carefully, quickly adding: "I know you did it without _knowing_ you were working for Jim but…still."

"Yeah," she repeated, staring back at the phone like she expected it to suddenly vanish into thin air. "I know..."

My brain caught up with something and I turned to Sherlock.

"Wait, what do you mean you were wondering when that was going to happen?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Jim, Irene and I all see potential in Brey; it was only a matter of time before my brother swooped in to recruit her to his ranks."

"But what about-?"

"_Oh_, do you really think all of that matters to the British Government? If anything it only makes them want her more – if she refuses to do as they say once she's under their thumb they'd have plenty of blackmail at their disposal to force her into submission."

"_Great,"_ Brey murmured sarcastically. "Woopydoo for me."

She paled.

"W-what if I say no? Won't they just use all the stuff I did against me anyway? Lock me away for the rest of my life?"

"I'd like to see them try…" I growled under my breath. Sherlock heard me and smiled.

"Trust me – they won't." Sherlock sighed. "My brother may be an imbecile sometimes but he's a stubborn one at that; if you say no he'll simply keep trying until you say yes."

Brey continued to stare down at the phone.

"So…you're saying I don't have a choice in the matter?"

Sherlock's smile widened.

"I'm _saying_ we have to be smart about this."

I found myself grinning as well.

"What are you suggesting?" I asked.

* * *

><p>Over the next two days we spent most of our time resting or helping Brey get ready - since the use of her bandaged hands was rather limited.<p>

Sherlock and Brey met up with Mycroft to negotiate terms a few hours after Brey received the call. I was under strict orders from Mrs Hudson to stay in the flat for at least 24 more hours. My protests of 'I'm a Doctor!' and 'I'm perfectly well!' fell on deaf ears, so I had to appease myself by observing the goings on from the flat window.

Sherlock said that since Brey was still under sixteen, Mycroft would have to wait at least a year before trying to employ her as an undercover agent. Therefore, he suggested that Mycroft leave her be until then, after which time he could ask her again… but must promise not to hound the girl until she agreed. It must also remain entirely her own decision, and Sherlock particularly stressed that if Brey encountered any trouble from Mycroft, he would have both himself and me to answer to.

Mycroft persisted for a while longer, but Sherlock was completely adamant. Less than fifteen minutes later the group parted – Brey looking awed, Sherlock looking satisfied, and Mycroft sporting a look of great displeasure that was so hilarious I almost choked on my tea.

Brey returned alone, informing me that Sherlock had other matters to attend to. When I asked her how it went, all that she said was:

"Mycroft isn't as scary as I thought he'd be…he's sort of like a disapproving mother, but _colder._" As an afterthought she added "does his face always do that thing when he hasn't got his way?"

"Like he's just eaten a sour grape?"

"Yeah."

"All the time."

There was a lengthy pause before the two of us burst out laughing – so much so that I had to sit back down and take a minute to compose myself.

"Oh God," I wiped my eyes. "How long is Sherlock going to be?"

"No idea," Brey shrugged. "But I need to go around to Irene's flat and grab some stuff. Also I'm meeting with a guy who can sort me out with some ID and a passport – Irene's contacts have some uses."

I felt a protective instinct stir within me.

"Is it urgent?" I asked. "Can't you wait until Sherlock gets back - I would go with you myself but Mrs Hudson keeps coming to check on me every half hour."

Brey smiled reassuringly.

"I'll be fine John but…thanks." She looked at the floor shyly. "It feels nice to have someone concerned about me…"

Brey cleared her throat and hurriedly made her way to the door.

"I'll bring back cookies!" she called back. "Does Sherlock eat cookies? Everyone likes cookies, don't they?"

* * *

><p>Once Brey and Sherlock got back, we spent the rest of the evening exchanging stories. Brey mostly listened - I suppose she didn't want to dwell too much on her past with Irene - but she seemed to love it, her eyes lighting up with excitement as Sherlock and I told her about some of the things I hadn't posted on my blog. At one point we had her in hysterics when we re-enacted one particular case when Sherlock and I had had to pretend to be monks to get into a Tibetan monastery.<p>

"Here."

Sherlock handed me a large cup of tea - we'd had to stop the re-enactment before Brey wet herself with laughter.

"Thanks." I said, sipping it carefully. My sore throat had made a reappearance once I'd stopped recounting tales. The warm liquid rushed down my throat, soothing it instantly. I sighed.

"Better?" the detective asked, concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock: for the last time - I'm _fine_," I croaked, trying to hide my smile.

Deciding all was well Sherlock nodded and handed the other cup to Brey, who was sitting across the other side of the room. Smiling gratefully, she took it with both hands and struggled to manoeuvre it up to her mouth without dropping it. Growling in frustration, she glared at the two thick bandages preventing her hands from moving.

"Maybe we should get you a straw," Sherlock teased.

Brey mumbled something inaudible as she glowered at him from over her mug.

"What time's your flight tomorrow?" I asked her.

Brey gave up on the tea and began nibbling on a cookie instead. As she turned her head I noticed with an odd fascination that the scar on her cheek was almost in the exact same place as Sherlock's.

"Eleven-thirty," she replied.

Although we had steered Myrcroft away from Brey, we'd decided it might be a good idea to get her out of the country for a while, until she got herself sorted out again. Brey had all of Irene's money (a rather significant sum) and knew some good friends in Paris who had helped her and Irene out on the odd occasion. When she'd mentioned that I had some doubts, but Brey had assured me these people were trustworthy and couldn't possibly have known about Irene's association with Moriarty.

"Besides," she'd said. "I've always loved Paris."

Sherlock sprang up from his chair and dashed across the room – random papers flying into the air as he scattered them carelessly to the floor in his search.

"Ah-hah!"

He held up a brown package about the size of a small hand and presented it to Brey.

Puzzled, Brey took it and began to unwrap it. Thinking of my earlier thought about the package I made her stop.

"Sherlock…it's not actually _a hand _is it?" I asked.

He frowned.

"Of course not John, why on Earth would you think that?"

I sighed.

"No reason…"

Brey gasped as she held up the item. It was an iPhone. A new top-of-the range one by the looks of it.

"I've put both mine and John's numbers on it," Sherlock informed her as she gawped at him. 'In case you...ah…ever need us for anything."

Brey was speechless.

"Oh! I almost forgot!"

He reached behind the couch and pulled out Brey's MacBook.

"I've put a few modifications on it and fixed it up a bit, after…"

After he and Irene had knocked it to the floor.

I knew this was Sherlock's way of apologising.

Brey must have known it too, because before anyone could stop her she'd leapt off the couch and engulfed Sherlock in a massive hug. At first he looked rather shocked, then confused… but finally he relaxed and returned it.

I smiled at him from over her shoulder.

"Good?" he mouthed.

"Good," I mouthed back.

* * *

><p>We saw Brey off at the airport the next morning. She hugged us both and tried to remain composed, but you didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to see how much she was going to miss us.<p>

As she waved at us from the end of the corridor I looked away and wiped frantically at my eyes.

Sherlock wasn't fooled. Of course he wasn't.

'Are you crying?" he asked.

"No, of course not."

"Sentiment," he decided, nodding to himself as we strode away.

"Don't tell me you're not going to miss her too? She adored you! Practically worshipped the ground you walked on. You're her favourite person in the world-"

"Correction – _was_ her favourite person in the world."

I stopped walking.

'What do you mean?"

Sherlock turned to face me.

"It's obvious John."

"What's obvious?"

He paused.

"She hugged you for half a second longer than me and you were the last person she looked at before she turned the corner."

I raised my eyebrows.

"You aren't saying that…?"

He carried on walking and I hurried to catch up.

'You mean that she likes me more than-"

"Precisely."

"That's absurd."

"Not really, people always end up liking you more than me. And she doesn't like you _that_ much more than me, of course – her pupils still dilate whenever she looks at me and her cheeks flush at a considerable-"

"…but she still likes me more than you?"

"Well, technically yes, but-"

I chuckled.

"I stole your fan-girl."

Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards and he looked amused.

"My what?"

"Your fan-girl…" I sighed. "Forget it."

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

"Tough – we're expected at the morgue."

His eyes glistened gleefully.

"Molly's just got in a tennis player who mysteriously disappeared and turned up two weeks later in a storage locker with a tennis ball rammed down his throat."

He sounded like a child whose new video game had just come into stock. His grin was so manic that it was oddly infectious.

I smiled.

"Then what are we waiting for?"


End file.
